


give me a ghost of a smile

by CamsthiSky



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Bat Family, Brothers, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Everyone Should Listen to Tim, Fluff, Gen, I've literally been working on this fic for a month, Tim Drake is Red Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 14:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13148310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamsthiSky/pseuds/CamsthiSky
Summary: Dick meets with a photographer for a photo shoot, Tim has a bad feeling, and Bruce is overprotective.





	give me a ghost of a smile

**Author's Note:**

> aka this is a placeholder title until I can think of one that fits bc I've been sitting here for like an hour. I'm trying my best.
> 
> Thank you to VP for donating! Here's the prompt you asked for!

“Hey, Tim,” Dick greets, cradling his phone between his shoulder and his cheek as he flips through last month’s issue of an up and coming magazine from the rack in the corner of the lobby. He doesn’t know where Bruce has gone, but with it likely that Dick will end up in  _ next _ month’s issue, he figures that he might as well give it a look while he chats with his little brother. “What’s up?”

_ “Heard about the photoshoot,”  _ Tim tells him. There’s a pause, a chance for Dick to interject, but he doesn’t. He hums and waits for Tim to continue. Eventually, Tim sighs and says,  _ “You sure about this?” _

Dick hums again, this time an affirmative.

_ “Dick,” _ Tim snaps, and Dick can’t help the upturn of his lips at his name. It sounds more like an insult than anything, but Tim would never admit to using it that way, no matter how much time Jason’s been spending around them nowadays.  _ “This is serious.” _

“Relax, Tim,” Dick says, putting the magazine back and grabbing the phone with a free hand. “I’ve been in plenty of magazines before. Plus, Bruce is here with me. What’s the problem?”

Tim makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.  _ “Something’s off about him.” _

“Can you prove it.”

Tim huffs out a,  _ “Not yet,” _ and if Dick had to guess, he’s probably glowering at his laptop or his tablet. Dick’s seen Tim do that enough times when his results don’t seem to match his effort level.  _ “If I had more time to—” _

“Tim,” Dick interrupts. “I’m twenty-four.”

_ “So?” _

Dick closes his eyes. He’s not angry, just exasperated. He’s an adult. He’s done his own research already, just like the last billion times he’s been approached for a photoshoot. Besides, this is just a preliminary meeting to work out the details. It’s not like anything’s set in stone. He has time to back out if he needs to.

He understands, though, that his family isn’t like normal families. Collectively, they’re an overprotective, brooding mess, and if one of them were in his position, he’d probably be doing the same thing. Things have gone wrong before.

“C’mon, Timmy,” Dick says, his voice light and teasing. “I’m a big kid now. I can handle a photoshoot.”

Tim snorts.  _ “You’re a five year old in a twenty-four year old’s body. Admit it.” _

Dick grins. “You kind of sound like Damian.”

_ “I do n—oh my god. Holy—don’t tell Steph or Jason. I’ll literally never live it down. Sounding like the  _ Demon Brat. _ What has the world come to.” _

“Yeah,” and Dick huffs out a laugh. “I’ll make sure to keep it quiet, Timmy. Although,  _ I _ think it’s adorable.”

_ “Stooooop,” _ Tim moans. And then he sighs.  _ “Seriously, Dick. I don’t think this is a good idea.” _

Dick hesitates. He’s not trying to be difficult, really. But, “If you can give me a reason, I’ll turn him down right now. But until then, there’s really no reason not to go through with it.”

There’s a pause, and then Tim says quietly,  _ “It’s just a feeling.” _

Dick exhales loudly, and leans against the wall behind him. Tim isn’t usually the one to rely on just feeling alone. That’s Dick’s thing. Feeling something passionately enough to abandon ship just because. Tim usually has a hunch, researches the hell out of it, and basically forces everyone to admit that he’d been right all along.

“I’ll be careful,” Dick tells him, trying for reassuring. “And I’ll even keep Bruce with me, if it makes you feel better.”

_ “I…guess,” _ Tim says, but he still sounds uncertain.  _ “The moment you think something’s wrong, though, you back out. Whether Bruce is with you or not. Okay?” _

“Okay,” Dick promises. “I’ll talk to you in a bit, Timmy. Try not to get into too much trouble.”

Tim makes an offended noise, hangs up with a  _ “Maybe you should take your own advice,” _ and then it’s just Dick standing in the lobby, staring at a rack of magazines, a weird feeling in his gut. He hopes this doesn’t go as sideways as Tim seems to think it will.

* * *

Dick’s bored out of his mind by the time 4:30 rolls around, even though it’s actually only been about fifteen minutes since Tim hung up on him, and he’s doing that  _ thing _ again. Where he can’t seem to stop fidgeting. Knee bouncing. Shoe scuffing. Fingers tapping. Bruce hates it—well. He hasn’t always, but after fifteen years knowing him, Dick’s seen more than a few annoyed glances thrown his way when it goes on for more than a minute or two.

Still, it’d be nice if Bruce were even  _ here _ to tell him to stop fidgeting or something. Bruce had been there when the two of them first walked into the lobby of the studio, but Dick had turned around once, and when he’d turned back to say something to Bruce, he’d been Batman’d. Bruce had vanished.

Dick lets out an irritated sigh and forces himself to sit still. According to the assistant at the desk, the photographer should be done with the photoshoot pretty soon.

_ “He’s just running a little behind schedule,” _ the girl had said, shrugging.  _ “It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes shoots can take a turn. Something works, something doesn’t. He should be done soon, though.” _

Finally— _ finally _ —the photographer walks out. A woman and two little girls thank him and head over to the assistant’s desk. The photographer—Almon Lytle—leaves them to it, veering towards Dick. The other man’s face turns up into a stiff smile and he holds a hand out to Dick.

Dick stands up and takes the offered hand, shaking it with a smile that’s probably a lot more convincing than the mask Lytle is plastering on. It’s obvious that Lytle is  _ not _ Dick’s biggest fan, so this is just off to the best start.

“Mr. Grayson,” Lytle greets. “It’s good to meet you.”

“You, too,” Dick says, taking back his hand to shove it in his jeans pocket. It takes everything he has to not grab his phone and call Alfred for a pick up. There’s this  _ vibe _ about Lytle that’s throwing Dick for a loop, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

He kind of wishes that Bruce were here right now, too.

“So,” Dick says, putting on his best charming smile. The one he usually pulls out for Bruce’s galas, when rich old ladies pinch his cheeks and rich middle-aged women try to hang off his arms. Between Tim’s feeling and his own, Dick’s thinking that this photographer is a no-go. Still, better go through the formalities. “Your email said that you were hired by Lovegrove Magazine’s new editor for this shoot.”

“Ah, yes,” Lytle says, distaste audible in every word. “Apparently they aren’t interested in getting sued for using photos unapproved by you and Mr. Wayne. Ms. Urchel decided she’d like fresh shots instead. Do you want to take this conversation into the back?”

“Actually.” Dick pauses and looks towards the front door, his eyebrows furrowing. His unease builds. “I’m waiting for my dad. He should be back soon, so if you wouldn’t mind, could we stay out here?”

Lytle’s eyebrows raise. “Your father? I was under the impression you were an adult, Mr. Grayson.”

Dick’s smile turns brittle. And just like that, he feels very done with this conversation. He should have taken Timmy’s feeling at face value. There’s something almost  _ challenging _ in the way Lytle had said that. Like his opinion of Dick has just driven off a cliff and died in a fiery explosion. Like Dick having Bruce here for this conversation was something that was abhorred.

Instead of letting his anger grab a hold of him, though, Dick swallows it down. Instead, he says, “Well, Bruce can be a bit overprotective of his kids when it comes to the media. Plus, a second opinion is always a good thing, don’t you agree?”

Lytle’s lips thin, but all the man says is, “I see. Then, of course, we can talk out here while we wait for Mr. Wayne.”

Dick has to keep himself from grimacing. The man sounds the exact opposite of happy, and there’s a look in his eyes. If Lytle were a reporter, Dick might have a published article defaming him to look forward to, but Lytle’s a photographer, and Dick’s not quite sure what to expect from him.

Maybe it’s time to get out of here, make some excuse about talking it over with his family before scheduling anything.

Obviously, that’s when Bruce makes his appearance.

He comes in through the front door holding a coffee, pulling off his sunglasses and giving the assistant and the family at the desk a very Brucie smile. It dies, though, when his eyes land on Lytle. His eyes are cold as he joins them, a gentle hand curling around Dick’s elbow.

“Mr. Lytle,” Bruce greets the man coolly. He doesn’t offer Lytle his hand, and Dick’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of them. There’s a tension between them. After another terse moment, Dick clears his throat expectantly, and Bruce breaks eye contact with Lytle to turn to Dick, giving him a much warmer look. “What did I miss?”

Dick half-smiles back, and Bruce’s eyebrows as he looks him up and down, and then there’s this subtle head tilt. A  _ are you alright? _ if Dick’s ever seen one, and Dick shrugs a little. He can handle himself, but he’s also not exactly comfortable here.

“Nothing much,” Dick says out loud for Lytle’s sake.

He freezes, though, when Lytle settles a hand on his shoulder, suddenly turning a one-eighty and showing Bruce nothing but smiles as he tells him, “Your son and I were just about to start discussing what Ms. Urchel was hoping for in this shoot.”

Bruce’s frown is immediate, and his eyes blaze with some fiery anger that Dick rarely sees in  _ Bruce _ but sees far too often in Batman, even as Dick shrugs Lytle’s hand and takes a step closer to Bruce, and more importantly  _ away _ from Lytle.

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Lytle,” Bruce says, and Dick watches Lytle’s smile fade and that irritation flit back over his face, before he meets Bruce’s unwavering, intense look. Dick tries not to be satisfied about the fact that Lytle flinches away. “But I’m afraid we’ll be refusing. I’ll talk to Ms. Urchel myself about our options.”

And with that, Bruce gently grabs Dick’s forearm and steers him out of the studio, and Dick goes compliantly.

“Thanks,” Dick says after they’re halfway to Wayne Tower, where Bruce had parked the car since it was only a few blocks away from Lytle’s studio. “I’m glad you were there with me.”

Bruce makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a hum, and then he lets go of Dick’s arm so that they’re walking side by side, arms brushing as they make their way down the semi-populated street. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Dick grimaces. “Is this about Timmy’s feeling?”

Bruce sighs, a tired hand running down his face. “Tim called me before we left, asking if I could check Lytle’s apartment before a deal could be struck.”

“What’d you find?”

“He kidnaps a few of his clients,” Bruce says quietly as they enter an abandoned side street that will lead them to the back of the building. There’s this troubled expression on his face as he stares into the middle distance. “Not directly, of course, but there’s enough evidence in his apartment to put Lytle away for years.”

Dick hums, thinking about the bullet he’d just dodged. “And I’m guessing there’s a high chance Batman will be handing this evidence over to the police tonight?”

“Commissioner Gordon will be informed,” Bruce confirms.

“Well,” Dick says, gathering himself and smiling over at Bruce, “I guess at some point we should just start taking Tim at his word. He’s already proven he’s psychic at least five times over.”

“Tim’s not psychic.”

“Would it be so bad if he was?”

_ “Dick.” _

“ _ Bruce,” _ he says back in the exact same tone of voice, but he isn’t able to stop the grin from tugging at his lips, and he’s rewarded for it when Bruce rolls his eyes and murmurs,

“Sometimes I swear you never grew up after you hit twelve years old.”

“Five, actually, according to Tim,” Dick says pleasantly, something warm in his chest as they make it to the car instead of the anger that would consume him if Bruce had said those words only a few years ago. Bruce gets into the driver’s seat and Dick slides easily into the passenger’s side. “And Damian likes to say that he’s more mature than I am.”

Bruce hums thoughtfully, but there’s this small, almost  _ content _ smile that makes that warmth into his chest blossom into happiness.

“Seriously,” Dick says after a few minutes of untroubled silence. “Thank you for today. I could have handled it, but it was nice to know you were there to back me up.”

“Anytime, Dick.”

 


End file.
